


cacoethes

by averylilyevans



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averylilyevans/pseuds/averylilyevans
Summary: She’s hitting her leg, hand balled up in a fist. Over and over. Over and over. It won’t bruise, but she almost wishes it would. The last time she felt anything, she was bruised.Always so bruised.Eighth year Dramione. I do not own these characters. In progress. Rated M for future chapters. Themes of anxiety, depression, & PTSD may be discussed or depicted.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	1. unburdened

She’s hitting her leg, hand balled up in a fist. Over and over. Over and over. It won’t bruise, but she almost wishes it would. The last time she _felt_ anything, she was bruised.

Always so bruised. 

Her face scrunches up tight, wheezing but no real noise comes out of her mouth. Her free hand claws at the bedding, desperate for something real to cling onto. If her brain was thinking rationally, she’d thank Merlin that she remembered to cast a silencing charm around her bed. She claws and claws, until tears start pouring down her face. 

_I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe._

She can see it, clear as day - Harry’s limp body in Hagrid’s arms, Bellatrix’s evil smile leering down at her, Hogwarts up in flames. 

_It’s over, fuck,_ she keeps reminding herself. She isn’t sure how long it’s been when her breathing finally steadies. Maybe it’s been five minutes, maybe an hour. Time doesn’t have a meaning to her anymore. She can hear Ginny’s even breathing in the corner. They’ve been staying at Grimmauld Place since the war ended, and she knows Ginny can’t sleep without a Calming Draught. The Healers at St. Mungo’s suggested she take one, too, but pain is the only thing she can feel anymore. Without it, she might not feel. 

She had been fine, when the war ended. 

At first.

Once the fireworks stopped roaring and the victorious smiles faded, the losses had become impossible to ignore. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Fred. Remus. Tonks. Even Snape. The list felt endless. 

When she broke, she didn’t break in two. She broke in a million pieces. She didn’t leave their room at Grimmauld Place for two weeks, didn’t bother to shower or even eat. 

When she finally did leave, she was a wreck. She went downstairs, saw the table the Order used to eat around, and sobbed on the floor for hours. Ron held her while she cried. Harry forced her to eat soup, as kindly as one can force feed another. Ginny painted her nails and washed her hair. They all walked on eggshells around her, because seemingly everything set her off. Pumpkin pie made her cry, as it had been a speciality of her mother’s. Kreacher made her cry, because he only reminded her of Dobby. The letter inviting them back to Hogwarts made her cry, because the castle represented the peak of her happiness and the depth of her sadness. 

A month later, she was drunk. Tears were no longer being shed, and the only thing she was feeling was the burn of firewhiskey and desperation to forget. If the others worried about her, then, they never said. Instead, Ginny and Luna might find themselves sitting next to her in a muggle bar, downing tequila shots and flirting like schoolgirls. She couldn’t speak for them, but she was always pretending it was another life. In this life, she was studying something mundane at Oxford, like history or economics. Muggle boys liked the way her boobs perked against her silk shirts and how she was down to try _anything_ , just once. She was happy. She certainly wasn’t a nineteen year old war hero. 

There was a period where she had to get herself together for the trials. She had gone into muggle London, bought pencil skirts and cigarette pants, suede heels and red lipstick. She wasn’t going to take shit from anybody when she finally went back out into the spotlight. No, she was “ _The Brightest Witch of Her Age_ ,” and she certainly ended to keep it that way. Before they Flooed to the ministry each morning, she, Harry, and Ron each took a Calming Draught and a shot of firewhiskey. For the nerves, they said. Each trial was like reliving a nightmare. 

But then the trials ended and the Wizarding World started turning again. Everyone had a choice - get onboard or be left behind. 

She had gotten good at pretending. Too good, even. Maybe they all had. She smiled and pretended like she didn’t see Ron’s tremors or the way Harry’s eyes would glaze over or Ginny’s nail beds chewed until they bled. Maybe they didn’t notice her hyperventilating and clawing at the sheets. Over and over and over again.

All Hermione Granger knew is that all was not well. 

  
  


“Maybe this was a mistake,” Ginny offered, her finger drawing a snitch in the window’s condensation. “The boys didn’t deem it necessary to come back.” 

“Harry couldn’t, you know that,” Hermione said. _Trauma_. It was the unspoken word in the air. 

“And you?”

Hermione looked over at her friend. Ginny was skinnier than she had been the last time they were on the Hogwarts Express together. Harry had bought her some better fitting robes, but the change was still obvious. Skinnier, and that glint in Ginny’s pretty brown eyes just wasn’t all the way there. 

“I don’t know.” 

Hermione knew exactly what she hoped to gain by finishing her Seventh Year. Herself, her old self. The girl that was enthralled by magic and dreamed, really _dreamed,_ of a future. What had she wanted to be, back in First Year? She couldn’t remember anymore. The future had seemed so immediate, on the run searching for Horcruxes. Once a planner, Hermione had no idea what she was doing anymore. 

Several First Years ran by the girls’ compartment giggling, and the sound was foreign to Hermione’s ears. Giggling. She hadn’t even considered giggling in - _what had it been_ \- months? Years? 

The door cracked open, and Luna’s pale blonde head poked in. She smiled a real, genuine smile that Hermione tried to return. The smile wiped off Luna’s face as she saw Hermione reach for her small, beaded bag. Luna always knew more than she should. 

“Good, you’re dressed,” Luna said, disregarding the heat on Hermione’s face. “We’re nearly there.” 

The castle looked the same. Hermione knew that somewhere near the lake was a memorial garden for the dead, simply because Harry had thrown himself headfirst into the project, but other than that, nothing had changed. She wasn’t sure if that bothered her or not. In her nightmares, fires blazed at every corner, red and green lights whizzed by her head, the screams of people dying filled her ears. But in the present, the castle had the magical glow it always had, unburdened by war. 

Hermione wondered if the castle remembered. 

The Great Hall was completely repaired. The four tables were lined up as they always had been, banners of green, red, blue, and yellow flying proudly above. Hermione, Ginny, and Luna sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table with Neville, and Hermione desperately tried not to make eye contact with anyone. She was tired of being stared at like an exhibit everywhere she went. Save for the excited chattering of younger students, the room was much more stuffy than Hermione had remembered it being. 

The clink of a goblet rang out into the Hall, and the students turned their attention to Headmistress McGonagall. She had always been old, Hermione knew, but she looked so worn. She understood, though. They had lost so much. 

“Welcome all. We are pleased that after a year of much effort, Hogwarts is fit to be reopened for learning. It is no secret that times have not been easy on anyone in recent years. You have endured horrors that no child should have to. Please know, if any of you feel the need to speak of these matters, Hogwarts will always provide help to those who ask for it. As will I.

Hermione could’ve sworn Minerva was looking right at her, and perhaps she was. Maybe her state as of late was more common knowledge than she thought. 

“You’ll notice we have a few familiar faces here with us, as well as a few unfamiliar. We are delighted to welcome Professor Vance to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts. While we hope these skills will not be needed for the time being, these practices are important to learn nonetheless.

Hermione recognized the curly, blonde-haired woman as Emmeline Vance from the Order. She had been friends with Harry’s parents in school. Two wars. Hermione couldn’t imagine. 

“You’ll also notice a few familiar, _younger_ faces. Several students have elected to come back to finish their Seventh Year at Hogwarts. It is to be noted that because of the number of students in the dormitories, these students have been given their own common room and dorms. Please make them feel welcome. They are just like you, hoping to finish their educational career. Now, for the Sorting...” 

Hermione zoned out as the tiny witches and wizards went up to the Sorting Hat, ready to find out their fates. In her darkest moments, Hermione wondered if had she been Sorted differently, would everything still have turned out the same. Surely she wouldn’t have been so… _intimately_ involved in the War. The letters etched into her arm burned. 

Hermione walked with Neville, who had decided to finish his N.E.W.T.s, to their new common room. Part of her wanted to go back to Gryffindor Tower, but she knew she couldn't stomach it without Harry and Ron. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed it was behind a portrait of Remus and Tonks. She swallowed, bracing herself to cry or dissociate, _anything to get through this_ , before she realized that the portrait was muggle. It didn’t move, permanently showing the pair smiling at one another and holding hands. Hermione reached out to lightly touch it, and the portrait hole opened to her surprise. 

“Heard Sprout talking about it; it registers our magic somehow. Guess they didn’t want other students bothering us,” Neville said, shrugging. 

Hermione nodded and went in first. 

For the first time in a really long time, Hermione smiled. The common room was beautiful, with ornate armchairs and sofas, each colored to represent one of the Houses. They were definitely in a tower, because a huge window opened out to a view of the Lake below. Above them, a sky full of stars shone brightly; she was sure this was to mimic Ravenclaw Tower. To the left was a staircase to the girl’s dormitories, and to the right, one to the boy’s. A separate staircase going down led to the most amazing part: a library, filled with books both muggle and magical. Hermione couldn’t wait to get her hands on them.

The dorms were off of a hallway like they had been in Gryffindor Tower, but instead of their Year, each had a gold or silver plaque with a single name. She found hers and pushed the door open. It was a scaled replica of her old dorm, and she assumed they had been designed that way to make each feel more at home. Hermione was just glad that she had a room alone, unlike before. The nightmares had shown no signs of slowing down. 

This was confirmed when Hermione woke up, drenched in sweat but thankfully not screaming. She closed her eyes and groaned. This dream had been of Ron, of the night before the first trial. She was sloshed and had been about to attempt drunk Apparition when he had grabbed her elbow. That fight had been awful. Before that, they had still been trying to make a go of it, pretending that they were the people they were before the War. They weren’t though, and they had finally just agreed to be friends. It was easier that way. And hurt less. 

Hermione got up, wrapped her silk robe around her and ventured out into the hallway and down the stairs. She hadn’t noticed the fireplace before, and she wasn’t sure how not, given its beauty. It looked almost like a stained glass window, with shards of color making up a large depiction of the Hogwarts logo. Other shapes of colored glass moved around it: Quidditch balls, potion bottles, various plants. A fire was roaring that hadn’t been before. 

“Can I help you?”

Hermione turned her attention to the girl sitting on the couch. Pansy Parkinson. She was gorgeous, just like she had been before the War. Her jet black hair was long, tied up in a bun on the top of her head. She was holding a steaming cup of tea. Her lips were pursed into an agitated pinch and her dark brown eyes looked dead. Hermione wondered if hers looked any better. 

“I- sorry, couldn’t sleep.”

Pansy considered this for a moment. “Fine. Sit.” 

The pair sat there, illuminated only by the flames before them. It was a while before Pansy spoke again.

“Potter and the Weasel not here?” 

Hermione snorted. And then she started laughing. _Weasel_ , she had almost forgotten the Slytherins' nickname for Ron. At first, Pansy looked irritated but after a few seconds, she started laughing too. Hermione wiped the tear coming down her face as their giggling died down. Ron could be a bit of a weasel sometimes. 

“They didn’t come,” Hermione said finally. “Kingsley offered them positions as Aurors. Bloody stupid if you ask me, given they have no qualifications.” 

“Except for saving the Wizarding World, of course,” Pansy reminded her haughtily.

“I forgot about that,” Hermione replied, grinning. Pansy grinned back. “Who else came back? Neville and I are the only Gryffindors.” 

“Abbott and Bones from Hufflepuff. Chang, Corner, and Patil from Ravenclaw. Then all of us, of course.” 

“Who’s all of us?” Hermione asked, not really sure if she wanted the answer. She’d find out sooner than later, she figured. 

“Me, obviously.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Draco.”

“Malfoy?” Hermione said, quickly. Too quickly, because Pansy’s eyebrows shot up as she sipped on her tea. 

“How many Dracos do you know?” Pansy smirked. 

Hermione looked off into the fire. The trial. His trial, that had been the last time she saw him. She and Harry testified on the behalf of him and Narcissa Malfoy. It hadn’t really been a question for either of them, just a matter of what they would say. They couldn’t convince Ron to, however, and Hermione secretly wondered if _that_ was the reason for their romantic demise. Holding a boyish grudge when a sentence to Azkaban was at stake? Hermione’s insides twisted at the sheer pettiness of it all. Draco had been… forlorn, at the trial, in that cage. That was the best way to describe him. She had given him one once-over, before delving into her tale of how he refused to identify Harry at Malfoy Manor, how the regretful look in his eye had helped her through Bellatrix’s torture. 

Hermione hadn’t been sure the Wizagamont would release him. They had, of course. Anything for the Golden Girl and Chosen One. To Ron’s dismay, she knew that Harry and Malfoy had been spending time together since he was released back to Malfoy Manor. She hadn’t joined Harry. 

“Only the one,” Hermione replied, before going off to bed again. She slept better this time. 

  
  
  
  



	2. movie star

Hermione was just glad classes didn’t start until Monday. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to deal with looking Flitwick, Slughorn, Sprout in the eye. They weren’t just her professors anymore; she had watched them duel, watched the enemy drop dead before them. At least she had a day to figure it out. 

It seemed like as good a time as any to go find the war memorial, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Hermione changed into a white sundress, threw her hair into a ponytail, and set out towards the Great Lake. The sun felt good on her face when she finally exited the castle. She had missed it - the warmth - during her time wallowing in self pity. Intellectually, she knew the sun was good for serotonin production. Emotionally, she didn’t feel as though she deserved any. 

It was almost reminiscent of the maze Fourth Year, except for the entrance was inviting instead of sinister, with bright green hedges covered in flowers lining the path. The entrance inside had a golden arch, _“the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death”_ scrawled across it. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips; she knew this was Harry’s doing. Then she frowned under the weight of it all. 

Harry had said they travelled to other memorials before deciding what to do, and it was evident when Hermione made it to the center of the garden. A beautiful slate wall lined the hedges, names of the dead etched into the stone. No flowers had been placed yet, so she conjured up a pair of roses and left them at the base. Names stood out to her - Lavender, Colin, Charity Burbage. There were names she didn’t recognize, and that made her heart ache. She would never get to know them. She ran her finger over Crabbe’s name. That was likely Harry’s doing, too. 

Something rustled behind her, and like a second instinct, Hermione jerked out her wand and whipped around. Her heart was beating wildly, even after she realized there was no danger. 

“Going to hex me?” 

It was almost nice to hear the arrogant drawl from Draco Malfoy, a reminder that maybe some things would never change. He looked better than he had at his trial, his forearms toned and biceps bulging in the white button up he was wearing. Not that he hadn’t been attractive before, but he looked like a man. His hair that had always been slicked back in school was free of any product, adding to the lazy attitude that graced his features. Those eyes, though. Still silver. Still piercing through her. 

Hermione lowered her wand but didn’t say anything. 

“Jumpy?” She almost swore his tone was teasing. 

“Like you aren’t,” she snapped. Everyone was jumpy. It was a product of war. 

Draco just nodded, almost amused. She didn’t want those eyes looking at her anymore, so she turned her attention back to the wall. It was sobering, the thousands of names. Here she was, pissing away her life with feelings of self pity, while the people on this wall couldn’t have feelings of any kind. No feelings… It sounded almost nice. She squashed the jealousy down before it could make its way to the surface. These people couldn’t have anything; they weren’t here anymore. Who had she been to survive? The garden felt claustrophobic all of the sudden, and Hermione had to get out of there. There was no way she was going to let _Draco Malfoy_ of all people see her break. She turned, taking off towards the exit. 

“Granger, wait!” 

Hermione almost paused at Draco’s words, but didn’t. 

  
  


The Great Hall was bustling for breakfast when Hermione made it back to up to the castle. She sat down next to Neville, Luna, and Ginny, who all had perplexed looks on their faces. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Ginny mused, passing a goblet of juice to Hermione. “You’re just breathing hard. And… sweating.” 

“I waited for you in the common room, but you never came out,” Neville said. He put a slice of toast in his mouth. “I didn’t realize you’d left.” 

“Oh I went to see the war memorial,” Hermione explained. The air turned somber. “It’s really beautiful. Gin, Harry did a great job with it.” 

At the mention of her boyfriend, Ginny perked up. “He is so proud of it. Kept going on about how history will repeat itself if we don’t talk about it. He’s right, of course. Man is always bloody right.” 

Of course, none of them wanted to talk about it, not really. So instead, the group listened as Ginny rambled on about McGonagall asking her to captain Gryffindor’s team this year and all of the changes she was going to implement to the training schedule. She was hoping to play Quidditch professionally next year, and this could only boost her draft stock. Hermione was happy for her friend but almost jealous, wishing she had something to throw her energy into, too. 

Draco walked into the Great Hall, and Hermione watched as he sat down with his friends at the Slytherin table. Now that he wasn’t standing right in front of her, she took time to _really_ look at him. He looked good. How was that even possible? He had been tasked with killing their Headmaster, the Dark Lord lived in his home, his father was sitting in Azkaban. He and his mother avoided the prison by the grace of The Boy Who Lived. A cold chill went down Hermione’s spine as the thought occurred to her that maybe everyone else had become okay while she had only descended further into her own misery. 

Or they were faking, like Hermione was, like she was sure Ginny, Luna, and Neville were. Theo Nott was effortlessly attractive like he had been before, but even from across the Hall, Hermione could see the scars that peaked out from the top of his shirt. Blaise Zabini looked like he was radiating anger. Daphne Greengrass was smiling at something Theo said, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. And of course, Pansy had been unable to sleep the night before, just like Hermione. She knew it was wrong, but it gave her comfort knowing she wasn’t the only one royally fucked up. Was Malfoy? Royally fucked up? 

  
  


_Harry,_

_It’s weird without you here. Rubbish you wouldn’t come back, really. But I understand. They’re trying to implement change, letting us wear muggle clothes and making Muggle studies mandatory. It’s nice being able to wear jeans for a change. Of course, the Great Hall is still divided into four and everyone whispers in the halls. The changes are cosmetic. Cosmetic changes won’t get us anywhere._

_I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay in ages, Harry. Are you? Okay, I mean? When I close my eyes, I don’t see anything happy. I don’t see a way out. All I see is Nagini’s fangs and Snape’s blood. I don’t sleep, half the time I can’t keep food down. We won’t even discuss my beaded bag. When we were on the run, I didn’t stop to think about it. About what we were doing. I think I would’ve drowned in the heaviness of it all, so I just kept going. Age seventeen, and we were the world’s only hope. Mad if you really get to thinking about it too hard._

_First step to recovery is acknowledgment, am I right?_

_I don’t know much longer I_

Hermione scribbled through the words before she could write them and tossed the parchment into the roaring fire. The entirety of the day had barely registered in her mind, but all of her days had been like that recently. They just ran together, one long nightmare. She watched as the flames licked up her words like a confessional. She couldn’t tell Harry the way she was feeling. It would consume him, and she was all too aware of the fact she had always been the one keeping them together. 

Pansy and Daphne stumbled through the portrait hole, giggling wildly and holding two glass bottles. Pansy’s gaze landed on Hermione, the only person still in the common room. She figured she should be scared of the upturn of Pansy’s lips, but curiosity was all she felt.

“Granger!” Daphne cried. “Want to join us? We were about to have a little gossip session in my room.” The girl held up one of the bottles for Hermione to see. Muggle gin. Hermione couldn’t help but grin. 

That’s all it took for the two Purebloods to drag Hermione back to Daphne’s room. _So this is what a Slytherin dorm looks like_ , Hermione mused. It could’ve been cold. The floors were a slate like the memorial, the bed wrought iron. Emerald curtains fell from the bed frame, and the walls were painted ink black. A bulky vanity sat in the corner, covered in muggle makeup products. 

But it wasn’t cold; Daphne had seen to that. A white fur rug laid across the floor, and matching pillows and blankets covered the bed. She even had muggle band posters hanging on the wall: Aerosmith, Pearl Jam, Pink Floyd. Moving pictures of the five Slytherins, as well as some of a girl Hermione could only assume was Daphne’s sister, were sporadically displayed. Despite the dark interior, the room was much more homey than Hermione’s. 

Daphne opened the bottle of gin and took a long pull, shuddering afterward. She smiled at Hermione. Daphne was beautiful. She was slender. Her hair was strawberry blonde and perfectly straight, reaching halfway down her back. No matter how dead Hermione had determined her eyes to be earlier, they were huge and blue like an ocean. They made her look innocent. A smattering of freckles dusted her button nose, and it occurred to Hermione that in another life, Daphne could’ve been an American movie star. 

“I didn’t know you lot drank muggle liquor,” Hermione said and immediately cringed. “No offense.”

“None taken, Granger,” Pansy replied, waving her hand. Her nails were painted black. 

“We started going to this muggle bar in London,” Daphne said, passing the bottle to Hermione. “The boys in there were just _divine_ , weren’t they, Pans? And the drinks! Some of them were even fruity. Nothing like firewhiskey burning your throat.” 

Hermione took a swig of gin so that the shock she was feeling wouldn’t cross her features. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, in a muggle bar? With muggle boys? 

Almost like she could read her mind, Pansy remarked, “People can surprise you, Granger. Like you and Boy Wonder testifying for Draco.” 

Hermione couldn’t help but think there was an accusation there, especially given the way Daphne’s lips twitched up. 

“Well Harry and I felt like he deserved it. He was a child, we all were. And he did help us, after all. If he had identified Harry in the Manor then it would’ve been over and everything would’ve been fucked. Absolutely fucked.” 

Pansy and Daphne just stared at Hermione before the pair bursted out laughing. 

“Hermione Granger saying _fucked_ -” Pansy squealed. 

“- never thought I’d see the day!” Daphne finished, and Hermione saw a bit of twinkle in her eye. 

The night bore on, and it didn’t take long before the first bottle of gin was finished and the second was on its way. Hermione had half a mind to be concerned about their classes in the morning, but it felt so nice to be _normal_ for a night that she pushed the anxiety to the back of her mind. Under the influence of gin, it was easy to pretend like these were her girlfriends. Just three normal girls back for another year at school. 

Daphne was hanging off the edge of the bed on her back, her blonde hair creeping towards the floor. She exaggerated a sigh. “Too bad we can’t go back to that muggle bar until Christmas.” 

“Sure we can,” Hermione said, not thinking much about the words as the alcohol flowed through her veins.

“And how is that?” Daphne asked, shooting to an upright position. She looked at Hermione expectantly, like maybe this Gryffindor had come to save them all. 

“I know a passageway to Hogsmeade. We can apparate from there.” Hermione shrugged. No big deal. Harry had even lent her the map before she came back, begging her not to tell Ginny he had given it to Hermione instead. 

“Just leave the grounds?” Pansy scoffed. It wasn’t the first time someone assumed Hermione didn’t have it in her. It’s like they forgot she started Dumbledore’s Army, broke into Gringotts, saved the Wizarding World. Her days of abiding by the rules were long, long gone. 

Daphne looked intrigued, though, so Hermione continued. “No one will even notice we’ve left. And if we get caught, big deal. You’re with me. The _‘Golden Girl_.’"

Hermione’s last word came out bitter. So bitter, neither of the Slytherins said anything. Instead, Pansy downed the rest of the bottle and looked between Hermione and Daphne.

“It’s a date.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to update this at least once a week! Thank you all so much for giving this story a chance. It will be worth it.


	3. patronus

“I don’t understand why they’re doing it. Harry, especially. You’d think after _six years_ of doing nothing but battling Dark wizards, he’d want to take a break! Play Quidditch, teach, write a bloody book. But no. He wants to be an Auror. He claims he doesn’t like attention, but you know he does. I’ve never met anyone more Gryffindor than Harry James Potter.” 

Hermione was trying to engage in Ginny’s rant, she really was. But Hermione’s head was _pounding_ from her late night romp with Pansy and Daphne. She had taken a hangover potion upon waking up, but even that wasn’t helping this morning. She groaned, but if Ginny took notice of her queasy complexion, she didn’t say. 

“It’s like he thinks it’s his bloody job to eradicate the world of every single Darkness there is,” Ginny finished. The redhead was right, of course. Hermione herself had had enough catching Dark wizards to last her a lifetime, but Harry and Ron were determined to make a career of it. 

“You know he does,” Hermione responded as they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall. 

“I’m tired of worrying about him,” Ginny said softly. Hermione grabbed her hand and nodded, understanding. It seemed the last few years were occupied entirely of worrying about Harry Potter. 

“Hermione!” a voice from the left pulled the girls from their thoughts. They both turned to see Daphne Greengrass standing at the Slytherin table, motioning for Hermione to join her. A few Hufflepuffs noticed but went back to eating their breakfast, paying the frantic Slytherin no mind. 

“Make a new friend?” Ginny teased. If she was confused or annoyed, it wasn’t evident. 

“Something like that.” 

“Go on,” Ginny motioned toward Daphne. “We’ll catch up with you before Defense, no worries.” 

Ginny left to join the Gryffindors, while Hermione began approaching the Slytherin table. She imagined doing this three, two, even one year ago and simply couldn’t. It was too bizarre. 

“Sit, sit.” Daphne motioned for Hermione to sit down next to her, across from Pansy. 

Theo nodded at her, smirking, and Hermione finally understood why even the Gryffindor girls giggled about him when he passed by. _The devil may care, but he sure doesn’t_ , that was the aura about him. Blaise handed her a plate of pastries, and Hermione accepted. Draco was nowhere to be found. 

“Merlin, Granger, do you feel like absolute Hippogriff shite?” Pansy looked a bit green around the edges. 

Hermione tried to take a bite of her scone but couldn’t, setting it back down on the plate. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Theo laughed. 

“How much did you witches drink?” Blaise asked, amused. Hermione had never seen Blaise Zabini look amused before, but it softened his harsh features. She decided she liked it. 

“Well Pans and I went down to buy gin off that Hufflepuff, something Turner, and we came back to Hermione moping by the fire-” 

“I was not moping!” Hermione interjected. 

“You definitely were, Granger,” Pansy said, finally getting a piece of toast down. 

“-anyway,” Daphne continued, “we ended up having a proper girls’ night in my dorm. Maybe not the smartest choice before the start of term, but it was great bonding!” 

Daphne smiled at Pansy, who rolled her eyes. _No wonder the war affected her so_ , Hermione thought. _Daphne_ _is too sweet for this world._

“Thanks for the invite, Daph,” Theo remarked. 

“Like we wanted you two and Mr. Broody there,” Pansy joked. “Where is he, anyway?” 

“No idea,” Blaise said. “He wasn’t in his room this morning. Probably in the library.” 

“He’s in the library a lot.” Daphne looked concerned. 

“I think he’s just avoiding all of… this,” Theo said, waving towards the rest of the Hall.

Pansy smirked. “Like I said: Mr. Broody.” 

  
  


_You’re okay. It’s class. It’s class_. 

“This class will be a bit different, as I’m sure you were expecting. You have experience, real life experience, and it doesn’t make sense for me to stand up here and teach theory on practices you already know. Moving forward, I hope the world is a place where Defensive spells are almost obsolete because they're so unnecessary. History does not dictate that, and because of such, I believe honing in your skills is the best way this class can proceed. A lot of you, while talented, have not had formal training. We will fix that this year.” 

While many of the Seventh and “Eighth Years” in Professor Vance’s Defense class were in the D.A., Hermione looked around the room and acknowledged most were not. None of the Slytherins, of course. 

“Does anyone know what a Patronus is?” Professor Vance asked. 

Several people looked at Hermione expectantly, and she raised her hand. Keeping up appearances had become second nature. 

“It’s a powerful defensive Charm that takes the form of an animal protector of sorts. While it’s main purpose is to defend against Dementors, it is also used to send messages back and forth between wizards. Mine takes the form of an otter.” 

“And how is it cast?” 

“A happy memory, the happiest you have. It is extremely difficult to cast, as the memory needs to be powerful enough for Dementors to flee.” 

“Good.” Professor Vance smiled at Hermione. “Ten points to Gryffindor.” 

After more elaboration from Professor Vance, the class finally began their attempts. Hermione watched as Ginny’s horse galloped around the room, chasing Luna’s hare. Neville, who had never produced a corporeal patronus, stood in the corner showing a few Hufflepuffs how to get their wispy mist to be stronger. 

“Alright, Granger, how do we do this?”

Pansy and Daphne had walked up with the three Slytherin boys, including Draco. Theo and Blaise looked at Hermione expectantly, but Draco’s eyes darted around the room. It was like he was trying to find anything to look at but her. After breakfast, she shouldn’t have been surprised they were okay being seen with her in public, but for whatever reason, she still was. 

Hermione demonstrated the wand technique, a strong counterclockwise circle. Once they each had it down, she began on the mental aspect of the charm. It was the hardest part, she knew. 

“Your happy memory, the key really is that it’s strong. If it isn’t, there’s no way the Patronus will have any girth behind it.” 

“ _Girth_ ,” Theo snickered and Daphne elbowed him in the ribs. _Sorry_ , he mouthed at Hermione. 

“Does it have to be a real memory?” Draco asked. Hermione turned to him, surprised he had said anything at all. Until this point, he had looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. 

“Not necessarily,” Hermione answered, clinically. “Harry’s wasn’t at first. I’m not sure what he uses now, but the first memory he used, he wasn’t even sure if it was real. But it was strong.” 

Draco nodded. 

The Slytherins began practicing, each having a varying degree of success. Daphne’s silver mist seemed strongest, and somehow, that didn’t surprise Hermione even though Pansy had a frustrated scowl on her face. 

Hermione hadn’t tried to produce her Patronus yet, and she knew why. She was just hoping she was wrong. Gathering all her remaining Gryffindor courage, she reared back and used the memory she had since she was fifteen: her, Ron, and Harry - laughing. Like Harry, she never had friends growing up nor any siblings to play with. The boys, they were the first people to accept her for _her_ , and the happiness they gave her was usually enough. 

“Expecto patronum!” she cried, but only a soft stream of light flew from her wand. 

Hermione tried again. And again. Tears welled up in her eyes. _Not here, not here_. Despite hearing someone ask her if she was okay, she darted out of the classroom and down the hall. 

She had known she was unhappy, but _that_ unhappy? Unhappy enough to not be able to produce a Charm she knew inside and out? The thought of not being able to protect herself and her loved ones in a Dementor attack shallowed her breathing. Head in her hands, Hermione sobbed. Someone had crouched down beside her and was rubbing circles on her back. 

“Granger, it’s okay. Deep breath in.” Pansy Parkinson. _What a fucking plot twist_.

“M-my Patronus,” Hermione sobbed. Pansy just continued to rub Hermione’s back in a circular motion, nodding slightly. 

“It’s okay, Granger. You can’t be good at everything.” 

“But I was!” Hermione erupted, tears streaming down her face. “I was good at everything, including this! And now I’m too fucking sad to produce a Patronus. How fucking _embarrassing_.” 

Pansy didn’t say anything. Not about the tears, not about the muggle swearing. She didn’t say anything or stop soothing Hermione until the sobs had ceased. 

“Granger… I’m sorry.” 

Hermione looked up, staring into Pansy’s eyes for the first time. Beautiful and cold. It was easy to remember a time when Pansy strutted around, clinging to Malfoy’s arm wearing expensive jewelry and haughty smiles. She was still wearing expensive jewelry, but her once fear-inducing features had softened. Pansy looked lost. Hermione didn’t say anything and offered a soft smile instead. Pansy didn’t need to clarify what she was sorry for, because Hermione knew. 

Everything. 

  
  


Hermione had missed the scarlet and gold decor that had once felt like home and was delighted when Ginny suggested she come to the Gryffindor common room for tea after dinner. While she appreciated her newfound friendships in Pansy and Daphne, there was something easy about sitting with Ginny by the roaring fire. Hermione didn’t have to say anything around Ginny; she just _knew_. It came from years of friendship. _And trauma_ , Hermione reminded herself. Always trauma. 

“Are you going to come to the match next week? First one, against Ravenclaw. Cho is the Captain.” Ginny wrinkled her nose and Hermione smirked. 

“Well in that case, of course I’ll be there. Is Harry coming?”

“No. He and Ron have some kind of training weekend. Between you and me, I think it’s more of a ‘how can we reign in Harry Potter and his sidekick’ seminar, but that’s just me.” 

“Gin!”

“What? Those two have no self control.” 

The common room had quieted down, and the last Third Year had finally gone to bed. Hermione knew she was supposed to be back at her dorm already, but she also knew no one was going to tell her otherwise. No one ever challenged her about anything anymore. Sometimes she wondered if she could murder someone in the street and get away with it. 

“So!” Ginny’s eyes had a mischievous glint reminiscent of Fred and George. “Tell me about your new _friends_.” 

“Who?” Hermione asked innocently. 

“Parkinson and Greengrass, you knob.” 

“Oh, _them_ ,” Hermione responded, smiling. “Nothing to tell, really. Tale as old as time. Three girls that have never liked each other before drink together and bond. And Pansy apologized. For before.” 

“Really?” Ginny took a sip from her mug and leaned forward a bit towards Hermione. “Wouldn’t have thought that. Of course, I never thought Harry and Malfoy would have a standing dinner date night either. Flobberworms must be flying.” 

“They have a what?” Hermione was intrigued. She knew that Harry and Malfoy had seen each other since Harry spoke at his trial, but she hadn’t known they were friendly. Or friends? 

Ginny looked like she was pondering how much she should say before speaking. 

“I think Malfoy is struggling. Voldemort invaded his home and his life. Harry understands what that’s like. And so do I,” she said, referring to Tom Riddle’s stint in her mind. “It’s a perverse little club.” 

“Maybe he should talk to someone. Maybe we all should,” the latter sentence coming out as more of an afterthought. Hermione noticed Ginny’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. 

“Talk to who?” 

“A therapist.”

“What’s a therapist?” Ginny asked. 

“Oh, um, they’re doc- er, Healers. For the mind. It’s a muggle thing, but I assume they have some sort of equivalent in the magical world. They talk about your feelings with you, essentially.” 

But Ginny shook her head. 

“No? What do you mean, no?” Hermione racked her brain for mentions of Mental Healers. She came up blank. 

“I just mean no,” Ginny responded. “There’s Healers that deal with effects of spells gone wrong on the mind, but nothing like what you’re saying. And it’s not like we could go talk to this muggle therapist person. Imagine! ‘Hi yes so a Dark wizard tried to murder me and my friends for years. I’m a war veteran at the ripe age of eighteen. Can’t sleep through the night without having nightmares of said Dark wizard trying to feed me to a giant snake! No worries though!’” 

And there it was. An opening. Ginny was admitting to having issues after the war, too. Hermione supposed she should take this opening to confer and admit she was struggling. But she couldn’t, so she instead focused on something she had always been good at: a cause. 

“I guess that makes sense. Wizards have never really been good about combining muggle and magical practices together. I’ve never read anything about Mental Healers; I guess I just assumed,” Hermione said. 

“It’s a good idea, ‘Mione,” Ginny said, softly. Her eyes were fixated on the fire, like she was trying to find something in the flames. Hermione understood that feeling. “I feel like a lot of people could use it.” 

  
  


Instead of sleeping when Hermione finally made it back to the Eighth Year common room, she descended down the staircase into the library. She hadn’t investigated it fully, but now that she was feeling a bit like herself, she figured time in the library was more important than sleep anyway. 

In the back corner, she found a section on Healing. Her fingers ran across the names on the spines: _Jinxes Gone Wrong_ , _Magical Bites and Me_ , _No Bones? No Problem_. Hermione grabbed a few titles on Healers dealing with memory charms and the extensive harm of the Cruciatus curse. This is what the Mind Healers of St. Mungo’s focused on. 

An hour later, Hermione had scoured several texts, only to find that the idea had been tried after the First War. It had been abandoned due to lack of interest. Hermione frowned. Surely there was some way to make people see the benefits of speaking with a professional.

 _You hypocrite. You won’t even tell your best friends you’re struggling_. She shoved the thought down and kept reading. Eventually, footsteps pulled her out of the text. 

“Brightest Witch of Her Age, up studying at 4am? I suppose my surprise is unfounded.” There it was again, that teasing tone. 

Hermione looked up and willed her jaw to not drop open. There Malfoy was in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants and socks. The sweatpants hung low on his waist, revealing delicious abs. His skin was soft, pale, and delicious-looking, other than his scars. It seemed almost odd how she noticed his scars second, because they were long and raised. Sectumsempra. Harry had almost killed Malfoy that day. 

“I, um - personal research,” Hermione said. She wanted to smack herself. _Personal research, that’s the best you’ve got?_

“Might I ask on what?” Despite asking what she was researching, he didn’t ask the same permission about joining her. He dragged a large armchair over to her table and plopped down. The cool, collected Draco Malfoy that had been leering in the room earlier now looked like a boy. A little scared, a little unsure. 

For some reason, Hermione told him everything. She paraphrased her earlier conversation with Ginny, leaving out the concern she had shown for Malfoy himself. She explained that in all her research, she had found one failed attempt at having magical therapists available. 

“I think there could be ways to make the public see these Healers as a good thing, instead of taboo. There are several pushes in the muggle community that I know of where they’re trying to destigmatize mental illness. It hasn’t been overly successful, but I think there are ways we could change the methodology to make it better.” 

Hermione looked up, expecting Malfoy to be scowling at the mention of muggles or even yawning at how long she had been explaining her idea. What she hadn’t expected to see was interest in his silver eyes. 

“Would you go?” he asked her. 

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Ginny hadn’t asked her that, and Hermione certainly hadn’t anticipated the question from Malfoy. 

“Well, I- I mean…” Hermione tried to say something intelligible and was thankful when Malfoy saved her from herself. 

“You can’t ask people to do something you wouldn’t do yourself. It’ll never get anywhere,” he said. “Once you figure out why my question made you as nervous as Longbottom on a broom, you’ll have all the answers you need.” 

This Malfoy was different from the boy she had punched in the nose, Hermione mused. That Malfoy had been arrogant and entitled. This Malfoy seemed reserved and wise. She wondered how much of it was age and how much was war. _We’ll never know_. 

He spoke again. “Pansy and Daphne speak highly of you.” 

At that, Hermione smiled. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with them. Daphne especially, she’s much brighter than I ever gave her credit for.”

“Pansy will do anything for you,” Malfoy said. “You just have to get through the layers.” 

“The five of you seem close.” 

“We’ve known each other since we were little,” Malfoy explained, tracing the letters on the cover of her book. “Theo and I had similar childhoods. He tries to act like he has it all together but he doesn’t. Blaise grew up with just his mom, and she’s wonderful. He’s too mature for his own good, grew up way too fast trying to take care of her. They’re family to me. I never had any real siblings.” 

“It seems incredibly daft now.” At his confused expression, Hermione continued, “The inter-House fighting. We were all just kids. I never could convince Harry that we were all just two sides of the same coin.” 

Malfoy thought on this, rubbing his forearm on instinct. Hermione knew what was there, what he was rubbing. When he opened his mouth to speak, she knew it was going to be heavy. Too heavy, for how fragile her mind already was. 

For the second time since term started, Hermione ran away with Malfoy’s plea chasing after her. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next... Muggle London. See y'all there.


	4. london

“Let me get this straight. Not only did my boyfriend of several years give _you_ the Marauders’ Map instead of me, you’re also taking a group of Slytherins to muggle London in the middle of term. And not inviting me.” 

Hermione knew she should at least have the decency to look sheepish, but she couldn’t muster up the energy. Between classes, her complete inability to sleep, and the research she was doing, Hermione felt a bit like she was drowning. _Soon enough you’ll be in an anxiety spiral, won’t that be fun?_ She should’ve known Ginny would want to be included in their illegal outing. It was very Ginny-esque. 

“Gin, I told you that you could come. I just didn’t think you’d want to.” 

Ginny passed Hermione a vial, and she added three drops to the antivenin they were brewing. Advanced Potions was supposed to be stressful, but it turned out not to be for people like Hermione, who brewed a Polyjuice potion in their Second Year. It was almost relaxing, following instructions and not having to think. Thinking, once her favorite pastime had turned into a dangerous game. 

Ginny gave their potion three stirs counterclockwise. “And why is that?” 

“You don’t know them is all.” 

“I can’t very well rectify that sitting at home, now can I?” Ginny huffed. Their potion turned a deep green, signifying that they were almost done. 

“Fine!” Hermione gave up. “Meet me in our common room at 10, okay?” 

Ginny gave Hermione a triumphant look as Slughorn walked up to their table. 

“This antivenin looks very nice, ladies, very nice indeed! Now… Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, I know you are no strangers to the little dinner parties I have. I sure hope to see you both at our next one! It would be lovely to have such _accomplished_ witches as yourselves in attendance.” 

There was simply nothing Hermione wished to do less than attend a Slug Club dinner, where she would surely have to field numerous questions about the War. The last one she went to had been a disaster, though she supposed that was her own doing by asking Cormac McLaggen. She and Ginny exchanged a look. 

“Of course, Professor. Wouldn’t miss it,” Ginny relented, earning them both enthusiastic nods from Slughorn. 

“Splendid, splendid! Oh, and take some of your brew with you. Never know when you might come across a snake.” 

“I’ve interacted with enough snakes to last a lifetime,” Hermione muttered once Slughorn had walked off. 

“Tell me about it,” Ginny agreed, her expression pained. “Get this, Harry wants to _buy_ one so he can keep it as a _pet_ and _talk to it_!” 

Hermione let out a genuine laugh. 

  
  


Hermione was sitting on her floor in jeans and a silk tank top, when Daphne and Pansy came busting in later that evening. Daphne’s hair was curled with intricate strands of braids running throughout. Pansy’s dark hair was slicked back into a high ponytail, and they were both wearing makeup. Even the robes they wore looked nicer than Hermione’s outfit, she noted, and her stomach sank. She had an unfortunate feeling she knew why they were there. 

“Hermione!” Daphne whined, pulling her up from the floor. “You can’t wear that! I mean it’s cute, but not for where we’re going.” 

Pansy hadn’t said anything but was looking through the clothes hanging in Hermione’s closet. 

“That scowl may get stuck on your face, Parkinson,” Hermione said.

“Sorry, Granger, but you’d think a muggleborn such as yourself would have something fun to wear. This is all so frumpy.”

“Pans!” Daphne shot Hermione an apologetic look. “What she _means_ to say, is that you’re coming back to my dorm and we’ll find you something.”

The Slytherin girls dragged Hermione a few doors down and pushed her on the vanity stool. 

Daphne clapped her hands together. “Okay! This is going to be so exciting.” 

Hermione’s first thought was to flee, because there was _no way_ this was going to be anything remotely close to ‘so exciting.’ But the last time she had felt truly pretty was at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. That was so long ago. Since the War, clothes and makeup and hair seemed frivolous and borderline rude. It would be nice to feel like her appearance mattered for a night. 

Daphne pulled two outfits from her closet, and she and Pansy began getting dressed. Daphne put on a brown leather skirt and a corset-style top. It was white with long sheer sleeves that made her look even daintier than usual. Hermione couldn’t help it; she was jealous of the effortless beauty of Daphne Greengrass. Pansy had opted for a completely different vibe in a black silk dress, her legs and arms completely on display. _As they should be_ , Hermione thought, the envy not yet faded. 

“Pans, I love that,” Daphne praised her best friend. “You should wear your Docs, I think.” 

Hermione really thought she’d seen it all, but Pureblood Pansy Parkinson in a pair of Dr. Martens really took the cake. And of course, she wore them better than any muggle Hermione had ever seen. 

“And for the prude?” Pansy’s voice was light, and Hermione knew she meant it as a joke. 

Daphne didn’t even acknowledge Pansy, as she was deep in her closet. Hermione noticed that Daphne’s closet was huge and seemed almost endless; she had used an extension charm, like Hermione had on her beaded bag. _Wait- my bag, my bag._

“Be right back,” Hermione got the words out, dashing down the hallway to her room. Her eyes spotted the bag instantly, and she let out a breath. _You’re okay._

Entering Daphne’s room again, Pansy gave Hermione a look but didn’t comment. Daphne had pulled out several outfits, all of which were very revealing and very Daphne. Pansy pointed to each outfit one by one and charmed them to float midair so Hermione could see the options properly. 

“Daphne, these are very pretty, but I don’t know…” 

“You’ll look so good in them, Hermione, I promise. I might have to charm them down a size. You’re tiny.” Hermione wasn’t sure if Daphne meant that as a compliment or as a statement of fact, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how eating was something she had picked back up in the last week or so at Hogwarts. Before that, she was barely eating at all. It was a leftover habit from being on the run. They had eaten maybe once a day, needing to ration all of the food she brought. Hermione knew intellectually that she was safe and not hiding in a remote forest somewhere, but it was hard for her mind to catch up.

“This is the one, Daph, for sure.” Pansy pointed at the outfit closest to her. Champagne in color and shimmering, the dress was short and completely backless with thin straps to keep it up. “Gryffindor gold and all that.” 

“No, no… I could never.” 

“You can and you will!” Daphne poked her. “Just try it on. For me?” 

With a bit more prompting, Hermione did try it on. She stepped in front of Daphne’s floor length mirror and opened her eyes. _Wow_. God, she looked good. Despite being a bit pale from her summer inside, her legs were as long and lean as they had always been. Even the scars covering her arms weren’t noticeable, as the eye was immediately drawn to the shimmer of the dress. Hermione wondered if it was magicked. 

“I love it,” Hermione whispered. Pansy had a self-satisfied smirk on her face. 

“Make-up time!” Daphne exclaimed, and Hermione audibly groaned. 

Daphne had been working on Hermione’s face for some time when there was a knock on the door. Pansy hopped up from the bed where she had been flipping through Witch Weekly and opened the door. 

“Weasley! Don’t you look ravishing.” 

Hermione was pretty sure Pansy was messing with Ginny, as Ginny was always the only Gryffindor the Slytherin boys paid any attention to, but she _did_ look ravishing. She had charmed her hair into a long bob and her scarlet dress featured a plunging neckline. 

“Merlin, ‘Mione, you weren’t in your room so I knocked on every bloody door on this way hallway to find you. People probably think I’m mental.” 

“She was wearing _jeans_!” Daphne told Ginny, emphasizing the word ‘jeans’ like Hermione had committed a cardinal sin. 

Ginny analyzed Daphne’s posters and turned, smiling at her. In a mock whisper, she said, “Try convincing her to wear heels.” 

  
  


Daphne did, in fact, get Hermione in heels. It had taken several Cushioning Charms, but Hermione agreed to a pair of black kitten heels. _Just this once_ , she had told Daphne. Deciding it was late enough that no one would be in the common room, the group made their way down the hall.

The three Slytherin boys were already there, looking dashing in slacks and button up shirts. They looked far more worldly than a group of nineteen year old boys should. Hermione licked her red, painted lips. Fact: Draco Malfoy looked positively God-like in navy blue. 

“You ladies look gorgeous. And Weasley! It is _very_ good to see you,” Theo winked at Ginny. Hermione chuckled; Theo may be handsome, but he certainly hadn’t saved the Wizarding World. 

“Yes, it’s all very touching,” Pansy muttered. “So Granger, where’s this Map you were going on about?” 

Hermione could feel Ginny’s gaze on her, and she stiffened a bit. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, telling Pansy and Daphne about the Marauders’ Map. Relaxing slightly, she decided it still was. There would never be peace if secrets filled the divide. 

Hermione reached her arm down into her bag and remerged holding the Map and her wand. The group gathered around her and watched as she tapped her wand to the parchment. 

“ _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_.”

As expected, the Map sprung to life. Filch and Mrs. Norris were meandering in the East wing. McGonagall was in her study, likely having a nightcap. Hermione noticed Neville and Hannah Abott in the Kitchens and made a mental note to ask Ginny about it later. The others’ eyes wandered the paper, not knowing where to look first. 

“So that’s how Potter was stalking me in Sixth Year,” Malfoy acknowledged. If he was angry, he didn’t sound it. He sounded impressed, if anything.

“Who made it?” Blaise asked Hermione. 

Ginny answered. “Harry’s dad and godfather, Professor Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew-” upon the mention of Pettigrew, Malfoy and Theo glanced at each other, “-Fred and George found it and eventually gave it to Harry.” 

“We didn’t know who had even made it for the longest,” Hermione added.

“Wicked.” Theo grinned. He reminded her of Ron in that moment, but it didn’t hurt like she thought it would. 

“Let’s get going, shall we?” Pansy hooked arms with Daphne. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m _parched_.” 

It had been completely uneventful, taking the group through the halls and to the One-Eyed Witch passageway. Hermione figured the Slytherins had a million questions for her and Ginny but was grateful they held off, opting to stay quiet instead. Once they reached Honeydukes, the group ventured out into the street. The only glow was coming from the Hogs’ Head, alive with lonely souls that needed a firewhiskey and the company of Aberforth. _I really should go see him_ , Hermione thought. He had saved her life, after all. 

“Warming charm?” Theo directed his question at the girls. The air had a bite to it, a few weeks into September, and Hermione smiled as Theo’s Charm ran down her body. Much better. 

“Okay!” Daphne grabbed Hermione’s arm and motioned for Pansy to grab Ginny’s. “Everyone ready to go?” 

The group nodded in confirmation, and Daphne Apparated, dragging Hermione along with her. Her insides felt like they were squeezing together and the sensation would never cease but a few short seconds later, they were standing in an alleyway. Hermione felt a little queasy - side-along Apparition was always worse, not knowing where your body was going. Daphne grabbed Hermione’s arm again and led her out to the sidewalk. They were definitely in muggle London; horns blared from every direction, three different styles of music could be heard in the background, and hundreds of drunk young people such as themselves were jovelly walking down the street. It was a regular Friday night. 

“Here it is,” Daphne whispered and also handed Hermione a thick card, “and take this. We’ve charmed them so muggles won’t question it.” 

A muggle ID. Hermione laughed. “This is brilliant, Daph, really.” 

Daphne’s face lit up. “Thank you, it was my idea! I made them over the summer. Okay, let’s go in.” 

The doorman let them in without pause, and Hermione followed Daphne down a hallway, which opened up into the main part of the bar. She gasped. It looked like something directly out of a Fitzgerald novel. Huge crystal chandeliers hung down from the ceiling, giving mood lighting to the dark venue. The actual bar ran the length of the room with a dozen well-dressed bartenders behind it, grabbing patrons drinks. In the very back, people were laughing and dancing. Large champagne towers scattered throughout the room. It felt like they were in 1920’s New York, not London in the new millenia. If Hermione didn’t know better, she would have bet Galleons this place was completely magical. Of course the Purebloods’ muggle bar would be this spectacular. 

Lining the wall was a series of black velvet booths, the seating surrounding ornate gold tables. Pansy motioned towards an empty one. 

“Let’s go sit,” she said, almost yelling. A group near them had chosen that moment to burst into a loud rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ 

“Don’t we need to grab drinks?” Hermione asked.

Daphne motioned to the three boys, who had walked off towards the bar. “They won’t let us buy anything.” She shrugged. “Their parents’ would have their heads.” 

“Oh,” Hermione replied. She, Pansy, Daphne, and Ginny went and slid into the booth. It felt good to get off her feet. 

Hermione let her eyes drift over to Draco at the bar. He leaned forward, resting his upper body on the bartop, speaking to the bartender. The girl, clearly smitten with him, nodded enthusiastically at whatever he requested. Hermione frowned at the bounce in the girl’s step as she walked away, getting started on making their drinks. _Had his lips always been that shade of pink? His shoulders always so broad? No, no, he was ill, the last few times she saw him - at the battle, at his trial_. 

Daphne and Ginny were discussing some new recruit for the Canons, who was apparently “cut from the gods,” but Hermione was hardly listening. She was too focused on admiring Draco’s hands when Pansy elbowed her harshly. 

“Ow,” Hermione muttered, frowning. 

“See something you like?” Pansy smirked, the candle on the table’s flame reflecting in her dark eyes. 

“I-I… what? No! I know-know you two are _together_. I would nev-”

“Let me stop you right there, Granger,” Pansy interjected, “Draco and I are not _together_. Not anymore. He’s my best friend, that’s it.” 

“Oh.” Hermione hoped desperately that she sounded less relieved than she felt. Why was she feeling relieved anyway? This was _Draco Malfoy_ , her childhood bully, a Death Eater, the one who was assigned to kill Dumbledore. Who cared about his bloody hands? 

As the boys walked up the table, each holding two drinks, Pansy whispered into Hermione’s ear, “It was never me he wanted anyway.” 

Hermione paled. She didn’t have time to process what that meant before Theo was handing her a glass, sliding into the booth next to her. 

“A gin and tonic, m’lady. I took the liberty of adding an orange slice.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione said. She took a sip. A bit of the anxiety she had been feeling evaporated. She knew that should be concerning, alcohol easing her nerves in an instant, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. Not in this moment, out in muggle London with six people she considered to be friends. 

“I propose a toast.” Daphne raised her cosmo in the air. She looked happier than Hermione had seen in the last few weeks of knowing her. “To a better life.” 

“To a better life,” they cheersed quietly. While short, Daphne’s toast weighed on Hermione like a secret prayer. A better life, isn’t that what she had been fighting for? 

Several drinks later (and Daphne was right, Theo and Blaise refused to let her pay for anything), the mood had livened up considerably. Even Draco Malfoy was smiling and chatting up Ginny about her Quidditch prospects. _This is how we change the world_ , Hermione thought to herself. _Drinking in muggle London._ It wasn’t lost on Hermione how strange this sight would be to an outsider: five Pureblood Slytherins, one blood traitor, and one muggleborn, laughing like they’d been friends all their lives. If the Purebloods had any issues being surrounded by muggles, they sure didn’t act it. Hermione had often kept herself up at night, wondering how many of her peers believed in Voldemort’s ideals and how many were trying to save their families. 

A familiar voice tore Hermione’s attention away from Theo and Blaise, who had been giving her a very lively retelling of Draco in the hospital wing after he had insulted Buckbeak. 

“Blimey, Gin, you didn’t tell me I’d need _identification_! I had the Confund the poor bloke!” 

Hermione pushed her way out of the booth and jumped into Harry’s arms. “Harry James Potter, you’re going to be an Auror! You can’t use magic on muggles.” 

“Don’t chastise the poor man, Granger,” Theo commented. 

“The Chosen One can do as he bloody well pleases.” Pansy’s joke was met with laughs from the group. 

Draco pushed a pint over to Harry, who had climbed in the booth and placed a kiss on Ginny’s lips. 

“Malfoy.” The two boys nodded at one another. Hermione wondered if the others knew about Harry and Draco’s unlikely friendship. She’d ask Daphne later. 

It wasn’t long until Hermione found herself being dragged onto the dance floor by the other girls. Glass in one hand and Pansy’s in another, she let herself get lost in the music. She didn’t know the song but found it didn’t matter. Pansy twirled her over towards Daphne, who laughed and danced on her dramatically. Hermione let herself enter a world where the four of them were just starting uni and had gone out for a celebratory drink. The hardest thing any of them had ever faced were mean girls in grade school. Maybe they had been friends for a week or maybe they had known each other their whole lives, but the details weren’t important. Not really. They were together, letting the music guide their bodies. From the booth, the boys kept a watchful eye on them.

Not that they needed it; the strength of the three girls she found herself with was palpable. 

Hermione noticed Draco grab his drink from the table and head outside towards the back patio. She turned to tell Pansy where she was going, but Pansy gave Hermione a knowing look and nod. Hermione followed him. 

A lit cigarette dangled from his fingers, his long fingers attached to the hands that she had been admiring earlier. He was sophistication personified, his arms lazily propped up on the railing. She had to remind herself that in the Wizarding World, he was their royalty. As always, he looked expensive and intimidating under the glow of the moon. Several girls on the other end of the patio were eyeing him like he was a football star or model or something equally as charming. For all they knew, maybe he was. 

Hermione took a deep breath and approached him, like he had done to her twice already. 

“Mr. Broody?”

“Hmm?” He looked up at her, taking a drag from the cigarette.

“Pansy. She refers to you as Mr. Broody,” Hermione explained. He offered her his cigarette but she declined. 

“I see. If out of the mouth of Pansy Parkinson, it must be true.” Hermione thought he might be annoyed that she had joined him, but he smiled at her. She wasn’t sure if it was genuine, but it was enough to make her feel like she had made the right choice, chasing him out onto the deck. 

“About our previous two encounters, Malfoy, I just wanted to say I’m sor-” 

Draco held a hand up, stopping her from going further. 

“Granger, I don’t ever want to hear you apologizing to me. You have nothing to be sorry for. Ever.” 

“I ran away, and it was very childish of me. I don’t know what came over me, truly.” 

Draco stood up to his full height. He was tall, taller than she remembered him being before. Without taking his eyes off hers, he put his cigarette out on the railing and threw it over. 

“I know you love interrupting, but for the love of Salazar, Granger, don’t interrupt me this time and listen. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making your life miserable in school. I’m sorry for calling you slurs to your face, hell, behind your back. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you're not the best bloody witch this world has ever seen. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel less beautiful than you are. Most of all, I’m sorry for not saving you that day on the Manor floor. If I could go back and do it differently… I would. I don’t expect your forgiveness or even want it, Granger. I just need you to know I would do it all differently.” 

He seemed lighter almost, like his confession had been weighing him down for an eternity. Hermione knew what guilt felt like. She carried guilt every day - for surviving, for not doing enough, for being unhappy, for even trying to be happy. Every emotion felt wrong when you carried around that much guilt. 

And so, Hermione put her hand on top of Draco Malfoy’s and lightened his load a bit more: “I forgive you, Draco.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for sticking around. I know this story is starting off slow, but I really hope everyone enjoys it. Don't worry- there will be more adventures in muggle London.


	5. grimmauld place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this update! I moved to a new city and it took me a few weeks to get settled in.

Hermione woke up on a leather sofa, a tattered blanket draped over her. Her eyes fluttered open and a portrait of Walburga Black was the first thing she saw. _No no no._ Hermione sat up frantically, looking around the room. Grimmauld Place. 

_Where are Harry and Ron?_ Where _are Harry and Ron? We have to go; we have to leave. They’re going to find us here. It’s too obvious, I tried to tell them. And now they’ve caught us._

Hermione knew she needed to control her breathing if she was going to convince the boys to run. They wanted to stay here, but they couldn’t. Yaxley had seen them, hadn’t she Apparated them away? Wait, wait- 

She quickly wrapped the blanket around herself and ran into the kitchen. 

Hermione stopped. Harry, Ginny, and the Slytherins were seated around the table, drinking tea. A huge stack of pastries sat in the middle; they looked suspiciously like a Molly Weasley concoction. 

“‘Mione, you’re up! We have- are you alright?” Harry stood, concerned etched on his features. She was tired of seeing that look on his face, especially directed at her. She forced a smile.

“Yeah, sorry, I just… don’t remember coming here.” She sat down next to Daphne, who passed her a cup. _Deep breath in, deep breath out._

“The Golden Girl _was_ a bit sloshed,” Pasny snickered. This must have amused Theo, because he came precariously close to choking on his scone. 

“Malfoy and I decided none of you were in any condition to head back to the castle. Although you should get going; McGonagall may start to notice seven missing students,” Harry said. 

“Doubt it,” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Unless Neville starts up a missing persons’ squad.” 

“Sounds like Longbottom,” Blaise noted. Everyone grinned. 

The banter was light and natural, like Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, Daphne, Theo, and Blaise had been galavanting about muggle London together their entire lives. Draco didn’t say anything, just casually sipping his tea. The lack of sleep under his eyes only added to his moody complexion. Hair mused and shirt from the night before unbuttoned, Hermione wondered if he were Hades himself. 

Hermione excused herself, grabbing her beaded bag from the living room and heading upstairs. The room she had shared with Ginny prior to leaving for school was still intact, their decor and personal effects in place. She thought it odd that Ginny hadn’t taken any of her frames with her, but then again, neither had she. She picked up a picture of herself, Ron, and Harry from a Christmas past at the Burrow. They looked so effortlessly happy, her arms around the boys’ shoulders and smiles plastered on their faces. Picture Harry grinned over at Picture Hermione and poked her ribs. Picture Ron watched his two best friends, grinning. 

Behind her, Real Harry was standing in the doorway. 

“Sometimes I walk into my room,” Harry said, “and expect to see Sirius just… standing there. He never is, of course.” Hermione turned to look at her best friend. Only eighteen but he seemed much older, much wiser. He continued, “I try to remember what he said, that the ones we love never truly leave us. I _try_ to remember, it’s just… It’s just hard.” 

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione asked quietly. Once upon a time, she had spoken freely about Harry’s emotions with him. Sought them out, even. But now, she avoided it lest the question be turned around on her. 

“I’m trying to be. Are you?” 

Hermione knew Harry would never judge her. He would worry, but never judge. It was why she loved him so much. 

“Not really, Harry.” Hermione sighed. “Somedays I feel like I’m swimming upwards towards the surface but I can never really get there.” 

She placed the frame in her bag. She didn’t touch the photograph of her parents, not sparing it even a glance. It hurt too much. 

“I want to help, ‘Mione.” 

Hermione nodded; she knew he was telling the truth. 

“Do me a favor then? Put me into contact with a higher up at St. Mungo’s, please. Use your Chosen One privileges or something.” 

Harry furrowed his brows. “Anything you need, ‘course. But can I ask what for?” 

Hermione shook her head. She wasn’t ready to tell him yet, and Harry knew she would when she was. The pair made their way back downstairs, passing by covered portraits of various Black family members. She almost smiled as she recalled the portraits yelling slurs at her the entire summer before Fifth Year. That was the summer things started to change. Even though things were objectively better now, sometimes she missed it. She had felt a sense of purpose that summer. They were changing the world. Now that the world had changed, she wasn’t sure where her place was in it. 

Before they entered the kitchen again, Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm, stopping him. 

“How’s Ron?” she asked. “Obviously I see he isn’t here.” 

Harry looked at her, and she could tell he was trying to decide how much to divulge. Harry was her best friend, but at moments like these, she was accurately aware of the fact she wasn’t his. 

“He’s… well, he’s with George. I told him about last night, but he didn’t want to come.” 

“Oh,” Hermione said stiffly. “I suppose that makes sense, it wasn’t that long ago and all.” 

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed. “No, no, I didn’t mean _you_. It’s because of them.” He motioned towards the kitchen.

Hermione watched as Pansy levitated a muffin to hit Draco directly in the face, Theo and Ginny both erupting into laughter. Daphne was showing Blaise the spell to turn his coffee into alcohol. Absorbed in the spell, neither noticed when the Pansy sent muffins their way, too. Watching them, Hermione’s blood began to get hot at Harry’s words. Ron could at least _try_. Hermione, Harry, and Ginny certainly were. 

“They’re just like us,” Hermione hissed. “And they happened to be born into the wrong families.” 

Harry raised his hands in submission. “You don’t have to explain it to me! You know Ron. He’ll come around eventually.” 

Hermione smiled as a full on food fight started in front of her. She wished desperately the rest of the Wizarding World could see this, too. 

Once Ginny had kissed Harry goodbye, they group Flooed back to Hogs’ Head. Harry and Ron kept Grimmauld Place connected on the network. Aberforth pretended like it bothered him, but Hermione knew the man was secretly pleased.

“Miss Granger, didn’t expect visitors at this hour,” Aberforth said, emerging from the bar. 

“So sorry, genuinely! We were just, er-” 

“Out!” Ginny finished for Hermione. “Think you can keep a secret?” 

Aberforth just grumbled and rolled his eyes, motioning from them to leave the bar. 

Back at the castle, they had almost made it to the Eighth Year common room when a voice called out from behind them.

“Miss Granger, do you think you could accompany me in my office after dinner? I have something that I wish to… discuss with you.” 

Hermione turned around to see her old professor’s amused eyes. She knew where they had been, that much was clear. _Fuck_. 

“Yes, Headmistress. I’d be elated.” 

“Great!” McGonagall smiled. “See you then.” 

Once the Headmistress was out of sight, Pansy and Theo began a childish round of _ooh_ ’s like they were in grade school and not fully fledged adults. Daphne frowned at Pansy and grabbed Hermione’s arm, leading her into the portrait hole. 

“You said it yourself, ‘Mione, they _can’t_ get you into trouble.” 

“Perfect Granger, of course not,” Draco sneered at Daphne’s words, stalking off towards the dorms. Ginny thumped him in the back of the head. 

“You’re a prat, Draco!” Pansy called after him, but she was smiling. She turned to Hermione. “He’s always a bit anxious when he’s hungover. Don’t worry about him.” 

The whiplash of interactions with Draco Malfoy was making Hermione dizzy. Cool one minute, hot the next. Watching him walk away, Hermione wondered if it was his head or her that he had a problem with. 

After dinner, Hermione took the familiar path to the Headmistress’ office. As she walked, her chest got tight with memories. Being in trouble with the boys, solving problems, winning awards. So much had happened in these halls. 

“Percival,” Hermione whispered and the gargoyles opened for him. She ascended up the stairs and opened the door. The office looked almost identical to when Dumbledore had occupied it, except the man’s portrait next to Professor Snape’s. She tried to not look either of them in the eye. She had choice words for both men, and she wasn’t sure it was the time or place. 

“Hermione! Now that we’re not in the public eye,” McGonagall said lightheartedly, “might I call you that?” 

“Of course, Headmistress.” 

“Minerva, dear. We’ve gone to war together.” 

“Minerva, then.” Hermione smiled. 

“Sit, sit.” McGonagall offered Hermione a cup, which she took. Hermione almost gagged when the contents were hangover potion, not tea. Hermione could have sworn the older woman smirked. 

“Hermione, there’s something that I wish to speak with you about. I have noticed that Miss Weasley and yourself, especially you, have taken up… a new group of friends. I simply wished to tell you that this pleases me. I believe this castle has not bred a sense of togetherness in the past like it should. You’re changing that. The world could use more of your kindness.” 

“Pro-Minerva, please. It’s not kindness. Forgiveness, maybe, but not kindness. Everyone deserves a second chance.” 

“Even Draco Malfoy?” McGonagall inquired. 

Hermione paused. Draco Malfoy, son and grandson of Death Eaters. Death Eater himself. Nephew of the woman that tortured her on the floor of his drawing room. She had offered her forgiveness to him, but is everything worth forgiving? _Maybe it’s time to find out._

Hermione didn’t say anything but McGonagall didn’t seem to mind. 

“Also, Hermione… If you and your friends ever want to leave the castle on the weekends, just let me know and I can arrange for you to use my Floo. The circumstances this year are a bit different indeed, and everyone is of age. I’d much rather know where you are, I think.” 

“Thank you, Minerva.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for starting this journey with me! I hope you enjoy it.


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